


On the grid

by Em_Jaye



Series: The Long Way Around [13]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, F/M, False Identity, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Canon Fix-It, Roommates, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Time Travel, Unintentional Intimacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 02:03:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20250361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Em_Jaye/pseuds/Em_Jaye
Summary: Woody Allen once said, 'If you want to make God laugh, tell him about your plans." With that in mind, Darcy had to wonder if there was anyone who could make God laugh quite like Steve Rogers.August 1972: Identity Heist





	On the grid

**Author's Note:**

> Is it possible to credit someone as a producer for a fic? Because crimtastic is straight up EP-ing this fic. She's a researching fiend and an amazing rubber duck and this universe would be sorely, sorely emtpy without her. 
> 
> \---  
This may be the last fic for tiny bit because I'm moving this weekend and I don't know how quickly the internet is going to be up and running for posting purposes in the new place. Thanks in advance for your patience!  
\---
> 
> Also, the things mentioned are historically accurate, though by 1972 they were phasing out this method of doing things. I'm just going to ask you to suspend your disbelief and assume that California was a little behind in catching up. :)

“I hate this plan,” Steve said as Darcy pulled the Buick into the parking lot of the Alameda county courthouse.

“I know,” she said, dropping the car into park before she looked over to her passenger and smiled. “You’ve told me.”

He didn’t smile back. “You could be a little less casual to be carrying out a totally shit plan.”

She shook her head and laughed. “Are you always this grouchy when you’re going along with plans that aren’t yours?”

“If I’m going along with it, it’s usually not this bad of a plan.”

Darcy shut the car off and reached behind him into the backseat where she’d stashed her purse. He didn’t move to accommodate when her shoulder smashed into his as she craned her body to reach beneath the passenger seat. She closed her finger around the thin, leather strap and pulled it free before she sat back with a victorious hum. “Steve,” she said turning back to him, a little out of breath. “It’s going to be fine. This is a good plan.”

“Chinatown is a better plan,” he said firmly.

“Chinatown is a scary, sketchy-as-shit plan that’s only going to be used as a backup to this very good plan.” Steve groaned and swiped a hand over his face, prompting Darcy to continue. “Look, I know that fake papers from some basement operation in Chinatown somehow _seems_ like a more solid plan to you,” she said patiently. “But if I succeed at this little performance I’m going to attempt, then we won’t have to worry about someone running our names and finding out we’re bullshit. Because we won’t _be_ bullshit—we’ll be legit.” She glanced behind him towards the courthouse steps. “Or, y’know, as legit as we can be, given the circumstances.” 

“I just think—”

Frustrated, Darcy held up both hands in fists and squeezed her eyes shut. “Steve, please stop poking holes in my plan,” she demanded. “I need to be confident and you’re not making me feel confident and if I’m not confident and totally in character, I’m going to screw this up.”

When she opened her eyes again, he was rubbing his eyes. “If anything feels like it’s starting to turn south—”

“I’m out,” she repeated. “I know. I promise.” She gave him a tight smile. “Wish me luck?”

He sighed and dropped his hand from his face. “Good luck.”

Darcy made it halfway across the parking lot before she saw the two uniformed police officers climb the stairs ahead of her and her stomach swooped dangerously with the realization of what she was about to do.

Crime. Fraud. 

She was going to walk up those stairs and willfully commit fraud. Two counts. That was more than enough to be arrested. Maybe they wouldn’t give her an extended sentence, due to the absolute insanity they’d make her plead once they heard her reasoning. Her mouth started sweating at the thought of what a psych ward looked like in 1972. Were they still using shock therapy? Would Steve be allowed to come visit her?

If she’d eaten anything that morning, she was certain it would have come right back up and onto the pavement in the moment before she turned around and scurried back to the safety of the car.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked when she slid behind the wheel again and shut the door.

“You were right—this is an insane plan.”

Two deep lines appeared in Steve’s brow. “What? No,” he looked confused. “I’m not right. Don’t say that. I was just being an asshole.”

“You can be an asshole and still be right.” She placed her face between the horn and the chrome steering wheel and shook her head. “I can’t do it,” she said tightly, willing her stomach to stop its twisting and turning.

“Yes, you can.”

“No,” she sat up again and stared at her companion. “I can’t. My stomach feels like it’s full of drunk bees and there are cops in there and what if they know that I’m lying, and they arrest me and—”

“Darcy,” Steve’s hand fell over her mouth, effectively silencing her. “Stop,” he said firmly, looking her squarely in the eye. “You’re going to be fine.”

“But you said—” her argument was muffled against his palm.

He pressed harder, stopping her a second time. “Forget what I said—you’re going to be fine. No one’s going to know that you’re lying, you’re not going to make anyone suspicious, you’re just going to go and follow through with your plan.”

“You hate my plan,” she reminded, narrowing her eyes as her words crashed into his hand.

Steve paused. “I only hate it because it’s not my plan,” he admitted. “It’s a good plan—I shouldn’t have made you feel like it wasn’t.”

Carefully he took his hand away from her mouth. “What if I get arrested?” she asked, noting that the officers hadn’t come out yet.

Steve smirked. “I’ll bail you out.”

She didn’t smile back. “You’re supposed to say I’m not going to get arrested.”

“Keep the drunk bees under control and you won’t,” he said with an annoyingly confident shrug.

Darcy felt all the blood rushing to her face again and folded her fingers, dropping her forehead to rest against them. “I still feel like I’m going to puke.”

“Do you want me to go instead?”

“No, you’re suspicious,” she said immediately.

“How am I suspicious?”

“Don’t play stupid,” she admonished into her lap. “If I’m Susie Records Clerk in there and the sexiest man I’ve ever seen walks in and stumbles his way through asking for a brand new identity, I’m probably going to think I’m on Candid Camera, or at the very least, I’m going to remember him. And we shouldn’t be memorable, right?”

When she looked up, his frown had deepened. “What did you just call me?”

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “You’re not stupid. But you _are _a terrible liar and my cover story for going for both of us works in this bass-ackwards misogyny-fest where women were expected to do everything for absolutely no credit.”

“No, that’s not what I—”

“Tell me I’ve got this, Steve,” she cut him off. Her forehead hit her hands again and she looked back down at the dashboard display behind the wheel. “Tell me I’m a badass.”

“You’ve got this,” he said immediately before he took hold of her elbow and turned her back to face him, carefully pulling her hands away from her hair. “Don’t mess this up,” he reminded gently, reaching for a bobby pin she’d dislodged. “It’s part of your disguise.”

She pushed the pin back into place and checked her reflection in the rearview mirror. A little too much blush, pink lips, hair curled and pinned back the same way Tina always wore hers, and the glasses she’d found at a thrift store—close enough to her prescription to stop her occasional eye-strain headaches. Despite her twisted stomach, she smiled. “I really do look just like my mom,” she said quietly before she took a deep breath. “Okay, I still might throw up.”

“You’re not going to throw up. You’re a badass, remember?”

She shook her head. “Not exactly.”

“Well,” he rolled his shoulder. “You are. Trust me.” When she didn’t respond, he cleared his throat. “When you pull this off? Like the badass that you are? We should celebrate.”

The suggestion was enough to pause her anxiety. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You know—go out. Have a drink we didn’t pour ourselves—toast our fresh identities.”

Darcy scoffed in feigned disbelief. “Are you, Steven Rogers, suggesting that we go out of the apartment together and have genuine fun?”

He smiled. “I am still capable of having fun, believe it or not.”

“I would _love _to believe it,” Darcy countered with a laugh. “But I think I’ll have to see it for myself.”

“Well,” he motioned toward the courthouse with a nod. “Go steal us some legitimacy and you’ll get the chance.”

She laughed again. “Deal. First round’s on me.”

“Oh no,” he shook his head. “I’m still wary when you’re getting the drinks,” he reminded with a little sparkle in his eye that made her want to roll her eyes.

“You drug a man _one time_…” she muttered as she threw open the door again. 

The office of vital records in Alameda county was exactly as DMV-like in 1972 as Delaware county, Pennsylvania had been when she’d needed her birth certificate in 2009. Then, she’d had to take a number, wait in line, and pay fifteen bucks for a notary to re-stamp the sheet of paper that said she was actually born.

This wasn’t too different. Except that in 2009, the clerk had typed in her information and had one reprinted in a few minutes. And here in 1972, they were just going to have to take her at her word. Not because they were just that good and trusting in 1972, but because she happened to know that in Feburary, they’d lost all birth and death records from 1930-1960 when a pipe had burst in the records room.

Darcy scanned the counter of employees. Of the three open windows, none were staffed the woman she’d overheard at the diner a month ago, bemoaning how they couldn’t cross-check for accuracy anymore. How her boss had told her they just had to take people at their word and type up what they needed.

“Forty-seven?” A middle-aged woman in a similar pair of glasses craned her neck and waved from the last service window against the wall.

Darcy took a deep breath and steadied herself. This was just theatre, she reminded with each breath. Just playing a part to get what she needed. She put on a bright smile and forced her stomach to settle. “Hi,” she said cheerfully as she placed her ticket on the counter. “Forty-seven. That’s me.”

The clerk smiled. “How can I help you?”

“I feel so silly,” she began with a flustered laugh. “I have to register my son for school on Monday and they asked me to bring in my and my husband’s birth certificates.”

“For school registration?” the clerk asked, sounding surprised.

Darcy shrugged, hoping it was enough to disguise how her stomach rolled unpleasantly at the thought of improvising. No one was supposed to question why she needed them. “I know,” she admitted. “The hoops these people have made us jump through—really making me rethink private school.”

“Oh, but I don’t blame you; my daughter is considering the same thing with her kids,” the clerk—her nameplate said Deborah—nodded sympathetically. “This state doesn’t know what it wants to do with its schools anymore.”

“Thank you,” Darcy found herself saying with a laugh. “That’s what I’ve been saying! Anyway,” she pushed back one of her hot-roller curls. “We just moved a few months ago and I swear I’ve torn the whole house apart twice looking for these birth certificates and I absolutely cannot find them anywhere.” She offered her best wince and prayed she looked worthy of a little more sympathy. “But my mother-in-law told me that I could just get copies from this office—is that right?” She bit her lip. _Dumb enough to be sympathetic_, the voice in her head that sounded hauntingly like Steve reminded her. _Not dumb enough to be annoying_. “I hope I’m in the right place.”

Deborah mirrored her wince. “You are,” she said slowly. “Unfortunately, it’s not so simple as making a copy.” Darcy did her best to look distraught—like she didn’t already know what was coming. “See, we lost just about the last forty years of records we had archived—birth and death, mostly.”

“Oh no,” Darcy forced her brow to stay knit in concern. “Does that mean you can’t…” she dropped her shoulders in a sigh. “I’m not going to have to go all the way to Sacramento, am I?”

To her relief, Deborah laughed and shook her head. “Oh, no sweetie. You don’t have time for that!” She waved the question away and reached behind her. “You’ll just have to fill out a form and we can type them up for you here.” She dropped her voice and glanced around. “Normally I’d say your husband would have to fill out his own but you’re already here, I’m not going to make you go all the way home and come back again.”

“Thank you,” she breathed, placing a hand on her chest. “You’re an absolute life-saver.”

Deborah reached beneath her counter to retrieve a clipboard and pen. She clipped two copies of the same form and pushed it across to Darcy. “Now,” she frowned thoughtfully. “It will be a dollar to notarize, is that going to be a problem?”

She bit back a laugh. “Not at all,” she said sweetly. “Thank you so much for all your help.” She returned to the chair she’d had before and clicked her pen into action.

_Name: Darcy Elizabeth Barrett_—middle and last borrowed from her older sister and nephew, respectively.

_Born: July 31, 1945_—because she’d always felt like a Leo at heart and if she was going to share a fake birthday with anyone, it might as well be Harry Potter.

She filled in a mother and father whose names she’d cobbled together from relatives and grandparents—just familiar enough she could remember if anyone ever asked—and Oakland, California as her place of birth and checked the box marked F for female.

The next form was just as easy. Steven James Grant was born on September 19, 1939 to Sarah Anne and Roger-with-no-middle-name-Grant. She was filling out his county and state of birth when she heard Deborah’s voice again. This time she was speaking to a man who looked to be in his early twenties.

“We don’t do social security cards here,” she was saying. The words tapped at Darcy’s ears and drew her attention away from her forms. “You’ll just have to go upstairs and get them to replace it for you.”

“Okay,” the young man said before he grimaced. “Only, I never memorized my number—I kept it in my wallet. And that got stolen,” he looked momentarily panicked. “Is that going to be a problem?”

Darcy raised an eyebrow. _He kept his social security card in his wallet?_ But Deborah only smiled patiently, like someone who’d just watched a puppy finally catch his own tail. “They’ll give you a new one,” she said quietly. “Just explain what happened,” she said before adding, “but you might want to memorize this one, okay?”

She blinked and watched the boy amble off toward the stairs, hardly believing what she’d just heard. The social security cards were what had really been keeping her up at night. She had a plan, of course. But it wasn’t a good plan. It was a plan that involved after-hours breaking and entering and dragging Steve along as her enforcer while she rummaged through the social security office and attempted to steal two randomly generated numbers, claim them for herself and Steve, and somehow manage to make it look like they’d had them all along.

Not a great plan. Loaded with tripwires and pitfalls and the kind of thing far more likely to get her arrested than her quest for two birth certificates. But she’d made that plan with different intel in mind…

She told herself a dozen different ways that there was no way it could be that easy while Deborah assisted another customer. But as she sat, twirling her pen and bouncing her foot nervously, she watched that same man trot back down the stairs only a few minutes later, sliding a crisp new social security card into what she had to assume was a new wallet.

“You are not going to believe this,” she said half an hour later as she climbed back into the car. The passenger seat this time; Steve had taken the wheel again. “Social Security in 1972 is a total farce.”

Beside her, Steve’s expression wrinkled. “Were you…successful?”

“Oh,” she reached into her purse and retrieved the first part of her quarry. “Definitely. Welcome to the world, Steve Grant and Darcy Barrett. Our fake parents should be very proud. And,” she went on, handing Steve’s to his for inspection, “Little Stevie can officially be enrolled in private school and Deborah hopes he makes a lot of friends his first day.”

“Little Stevie?” Steve repeated dubiously, glancing up from the paper he’d accepted.

“Our adorable five-year-old son who’s starting school in September,” she admonished, practically giddy with relief. “He looks just like you,” she added with a cheeky grin. “But he’s sassy like his mommy.”

Steve didn’t look impressed. “You told the records clerk all of this?”

“Her name is Deborah, first of all,” Darcy corrected. “And no, of course not. I didn’t volunteer anything unnecessary,” she said, quoting one of his favorite rules. “I’m just trying to infuse a little humor into our incredibly dreary existence, bestest friend of mine.”

“So Social Security?” Steve prompted. “1972? A total farce?”

“An absolute farce!” she repeated with a strong note of triumph in her voice. She reached into her purse and presented Steve with her brand new, entirely legitimate social security card. “Do you want to know how I got that, Steve? Do you have any idea what I had to do to get that?”

He took it from her carefully and studied it from all angles. “I assume committed at least one felony,” he said after considering it.

“I _asked_ for it.” At this, Steve’s brow unfurrowed and he looked up, surprised. “Yup,” Darcy nodded before he could ask if she was serious. “I walked up to the counter, pretended to be some dumb housewife who couldn’t remember her number and had lost her card and after they looked at my freshy-fresh birth certificate, they just _took this card_,” she took it back from him just to hold it up and shake back and forth. “From a stack of _pre-printed cards_,” she gave it another wiggle as she paused dramatically. “And they just _typed my name_ onto it.”

He blinked and then narrowed his eyes. “They have…stacks?” he repeated. “Stacks of pre-printed Social Security cards?”

“_Yes_,” she said emphatically. “The dude just fed this little guy into a typewriter,” she shook the card again. “And typed my name onto it, then wrote the name and number in a little accountant leger-style logbook and sent me on my way. And when I made some little comment about the process, he said they just input all the numbers into a machine at the end of every month to register and verify them in the national database.”

Steve frowned again. “That’s…Well. I…guess I don’t know when people started using Social Security numbers as the main form of identification. Maybe it’s not how they’re keeping track of people yet?”

“Apparently not,” Darcy said as she tucked the card back into her wallet. “So, scrap our terrible, breaking-and-entering plan—”

“_Your _terrible breaking-and-entering plan,” Steve corrected.

Darcy narrowed her eyes in a brief glare and pointed to the ignition. “I don’t want to push our lukc in Alameda. We just need to hit up the next closest Social Security office for _you_ to go in and play dumb and ask for a new number and then guess what?”

The corner of his lips lifted into a half-smile. “What?”

“We’re officially legit and it’s officially mojito-o’clock.”

Steve laughed and checked his watch. “It’s ten in the morning, Darce,” he reminded. “Maybe a little early for mojitos.”

Darcy’s stomach had twisted again an hour later while she waited in the parking lot of the Contra Costa county building. Only it wasn’t with nerves this time—it was something else. Unpleasant and unwelcome and nagging at her like misplaced guilt and Steve noticed right away.

“It’s all good,” he assured her, sliding behind the wheel again. He passed her his card, embossed with a perfectly legitimate number and the name _Steven James Grant_ typed below. “Exactly as easy as you said it’d be.”

She smiled and handed it back. “Yup. We’re officially on the grid, Grant.”

He studied her expression and she felt her stomach twist again. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she shrugged. “I just…” Darcy bit her lip and dropped her shoulders with a sigh. “I just feel bad.”

“About…lying to the government?”

She smiled again. “Actually, no. I feel fine about that.”

“Good,” he agreed with a nod. “Because they’ve been lying to us every minute for the last two hundred years and as far as victimless crimes go…” Steve trailed off with a shrug.

She laughed and shook her head. “No, it’s not that. I can’t…um,” she dropped her eyes for a moment. “I can’t go out tonight to celebrate these shiny new identities. I have a…thing.”

When she looked up, Steve looked intrigued. “A thing?”

She rolled her eyes at her own stumbling. This was stupid, she told herself. Steve wouldn’t care. He probably didn’t want to go out in the first place—he’d only suggested it to calm her down and get her out of the car. “A guy at work,” she said. “A customer, I mean. I told him I’d go…” she shrugged. “There’s this band and they’re playing at this bar and he knows the bass player and I told him—”

Steve’s eyes narrowed. “A…date?” he asked. Her stomach gave another unwelcome twist, despite the smile he offered her. “It’s been a minute since I’ve been on one, but I’m pretty sure what you’re describing is a date, Darcy.”

“Yeah, okay,” she relented. “It’s a date.”

He regarded her cautiously, still looking confused. She didn’t blame him. “Again, I’m a little rusty on the rules, but isn’t it supposed to be something you look forward to?”

“Yeah,” she said, a little flustered. “No, I mean, yes, I’m looking forward to it, but I feel bad because I said I’d go out and celebrate with you and now I have to renege because I have this…date…thing.”

Actually, if she was being honest, she’d let herself admit that she wasn’t looking _really _looking forward to her date with Andrew—the guy from the bookstore who took his lunch breaks at the diner and had a shy smile that was just this side of disarming. She had been, when she’d said yes a week ago. And she was pretty sure that if Steve hadn’t put the idea of celebrating their heist into her head, she’d still be excited.

But Steve _had _put the idea of celebrating into her head. And it had been his suggestion, which was rare enough to qualify as a low-level miracle. And when she thought about it, she’d much rather down a few mojitos and celebrate with Steve than stumble through an awkward first date with a guy she barely knew.

But if Steve was reading anything into her fumbling and hesitation, he didn’t show it when he smiled. “That’s okay,” he said easily. “We can go out another night.”

“Are you sure?” she asked; her lips twisted in doubt. “I’m sorry—it totally slipped my mind.”

“It’s fine,” he assured her before he turned the key and started the car again. It was another moment before he glanced over with a smirk. “Although, I don’t know how we’re going to break the news to Little Stevie that his parents are seeing other people.”

Darcy snorted and rolled her eyes before she smacked his arm. “You’re such a jerk.”

“Hey,” he laughed, dropping a hand behind her seat to check behind them as he backed out of the space. “You’re the one who keeps adding to this fictional family of ours—not me.” She was still laughing when he righted the car and pulled out of the lot. “Come on,” he gave her arm a light swat. “I’ll let you buy me lunch while we work out the custody arrangements.”

As far as the first official thing Darcy Barrett and Steven Grant did with their fresh new legitimacy, having lunch together wasn’t such a bad idea. 

**Author's Note:**

> Some of the things crim found for me regarding how we used to think about and deal with SSN are straight up hilarious and thankfully invited a very VERY large margain of error. You can read more about it here: https://www.ssa.gov/policy/docs/ssb/v69n2/v69n2p55.html
> 
> \---  
Come play with me on tumblr: @idontgettechnology and join me at ishipitpod.com for weekly podcast on fandom and fanfic by yours truly. 
> 
> *kisses*


End file.
